


possession

by onlyeverthus



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5905603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyeverthus/pseuds/onlyeverthus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She likes to make him jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	possession

I am flirting right now, and he is jealous.

I can feel him seething behind me, can feel his eyes on me. I know he thinks he's being nonchalant, pretending to distance himself from me while I distract the guard, but he and I both know that my smile is a bit too bright and I'm touching the guard's arm a bit longer than is necessary.

Part of this is payback for his flirting with the girl at the chip shop on our last stop on Earth, but also for the long string of women before her. Jabe, Lynda with a ‘y', Reinette, and several other nameless chip shop girls scattered in between.

He stews over it until we've accomplished whatever it is we've set out to do and once we return he follows me back to my room.

We argue perfunctorily as I remove my jacket and shoes before he grabs me and pulls me to him, crushing my lips with his. And this is the other reason for making him jealous.

His fingers tangle in my hair and it hurts but I don't care. He pulls my head back and kisses my neck and I can feel his teeth nip at the flesh there.

He doesn't hold himself back and that's most of the reason why this happens the way it does.

I love it when he grips my arms and holds me in place, when he tugs on my hair enough to hurt and sometimes comes away with a few blond strands twisted around his fingers, when he's such a hurry to pull my shirt off that the fabric rips and his fingers jab into my skin and I sometimes find bruises the next day.

He pushes me back onto the bed and brands me with his kisses, marking me with his fingertips.

He will never say it aloud but I am his. The words he doesn't speak slip from his tongue into my mouth, his lips cover my flesh in tattoos which are invisible and yet are somehow seen by anyone and anything that might find me vaguely attractive.

At least until they fade and he marks me as his again.

Because I _am_ his.

And he is mine.  



End file.
